


(your love) a sword made of moonlight & blood

by ultraviolence



Series: the horror and beauty of your eyes burn between [vampire au] [4]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Prototype: Fragments of Sky Silver, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst and Tragedy, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 06:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20110528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: The puzzle pieces might have slowly fallen into place, but certain mysteries remain, and the final hour draws near. Or: in which everything is coming to a close, as Lucius' pursuit of the truth ran into its final revelation.AU. Part four of four.





	(your love) a sword made of moonlight & blood

**Author's Note:**

> It feels a little strange now that this is officially done, since the idea came to me in March, and I've been working on this since April. But, I'm glad, and I wanted to say thank you for bearing with me and coming with me this far (especially those of you in my Twitter, you know who you are) on this ride. I definitely wouldn't be as motivated to finish this without you, lol.
> 
> Fair warning, this part contains possibly emotionally disturbing things, so for those of you of a more delicate constitution, please tread with care. I did put it in the tags, but I thought I'd mention it again before we go.
> 
> Okay, now that it's been said, onwards to the story! (and happy 4th anniv for FGO folks <3)

As soon as he received the word, he hastily finished dressing and left his room, briskly making his way towards his destination, sparing not a single glance behind. The shadows in the long hallway were still, silent in their obsolete dreaming madness, his quick, graceful steps partially muffled by the carpeted floor. The faint illumination provided by the lamps disturbs nothing, their vague light brings memories of starlight from last night, and starlight from childhood long gone, but he had no time to dwell on such things. 

Everything is as it is, and as it should be, but at the same time, something had changed. 

The master bedroom—the unspoken heart of the house—lies not too far ahead, at the end of the hallway, and it wasn’t long until he reached the familiar door, looming large in his way, as if it was a riddle, waiting to be solved.

He knocked, thrice, waited until he received spoken response from inside the room, and only then did he push the door open, quite in a hurry, but immediately regretted it, since he did not want to reveal his anxiousness, or betray his true feelings in any way.

“It’s me,” Arthur said, lingering for a moment in the doorway before stepping inside the room. “I heard you were looking for me. Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Morgan responded, but didn’t bother to look at him. “Come in, close the door behind you.”

He did as she asked, and took another step further inside, regarding the room quietly. She was sitting in front of the vanity, still in her dressing gown, holding a hairbrush in one hand. The room was something she’d chosen for herself after their father left—Morgan said that it belongs to her, as the eldest, and Arthur, thinking that it would make her happy and feeling less troubled, readily agree. The curtains were closed, and, even fully lighted, the room was dim, lending a dismal cast to it. The bedroom possessed an underlying masculine quality, after being inhabited by a singular man, alone, after his wife passed away, but her feminine touches gradually overcomes it, and now it felt as if this place had belonged to her since the beginning.

“You arrived at the right time,” she said, again, breaking the brief silence that felt like an eternity. “I know we’re not children anymore, and it’s been a good while since you did this, but why don’t you help me with my hair? You used to do it every now and then when we were younger.”

There was a strange, enchanting kind of wistfulness in her tone, and he couldn’t possibly say no to that.

“Of course,” Arthur accepted, making his way towards her, still hesitating momentarily, but quickly overcame it. “It wasn’t used to be this long, though,” he added, trying to keep it lighthearted, after he arrived behind her, tangling a finger in her golden hair playfully. “I remembered that you’ve had a short phase once, and you refused to let anyone fix it.”

“And you weren’t always this tall either,” Morgan quickly retorted, handing him the brush. “You used to be smaller. I did that to prove a point to Father, anyway. But you thought that something was happening to my hair, didn’t you?”

“Only because you told me that it wasn’t growing back,” he said, almost defensively. It was quite relaxing, Arthur thought, the act of running the brush through Morgan’s hair, gently, straightening out the kinks. It nearly made him forget the fact that she still hasn’t told him why she summoned him here yet. 

“You’re just too gullible back then,” she mused, and he felt her gaze on him through the mirror softens for a moment, but the intense, unrelenting, enigmatic quality quickly returns. “And you have such steady, gentle hands,” Morgan added, rather absentmindedly, seemed to be snagged by a momentary thought. Arthur could feel her gaze again soon, however, fixed on him through the mirror, intently, as if she was searching for something that only she knows. He subtly avoided it, and directed his focus to brushing her hair, pretending that he didn’t notice. 

“You have Mother’s eyes, don’t you? You have quite a bit of her in you. Had she lived, she would have adored you. She’ll take you on walks to the garden and then you’ll both have afternoon tea with Father afterwards. What a lovely picture,” she continued, somewhat sarcastically, and he bit his bottom lip, silently wishing that she would stop. “My perfect little brother. It’s so easy to love you, isn’t it, Arthur? Small wonder Father chose you as his heir.”

“I thought that you never wanted to talk about Mother,” Arthur quietly muttered under his breath, still avoiding her gaze determinedly. “And it wasn’t up to me to decide, about the latter…” 

He trailed off, hoping that it would somehow be enough to make Morgan drop the topic. Both were thorny issues, still sensitive matters even after all these years. Arthur never could understand her singular, consuming obsession with their inheritance—it wasn’t as if they still had anything to actually rule over aside from the house and its household, and the estate was not in a prime condition either—but he still felt largely guilty for somehow taking their mother away prematurely, even if he had come to understand that it wasn’t his fault. Still, he thought that it couldn’t have been easy for her.

“There,” Arthur said, brightening up a little bit, glad that he finished brushing her hair before Morgan could press the matter further. He placed his free hand on her shoulder, lightly, drawing her attention to how she looked now instead of him. “It’s done. Would you like me to fetch a ribbon for you, or would you like me to help you do it in a certain way?”

“Mmm, I don’t know,” she answered, seemingly taken off-guard by the question and the sudden change of tone. “What do you think? What will look good on me?”

“Anything you want, I suppose,” he told her, furrowing his brow. “I mean, so long it’s within my capabilities, of course.”

“Is that what you think? Honestly?” Morgan said, casting him a doubtful glance, but changed the topic before he could give her a response. “Do you know why I called you here?”

“No, not really,” Arthur replied, feeling the nervousness returning, but he distracted himself by lightly placing the brush on the vanity desk in front of her. “I was wondering about that, actually.”

There was a silence—Morgan had a known dramatic streak—before she finally gave him an answer, and, in the meanwhile, he can’t help but cast her an anxious glance.

“You didn’t show up at the library yesterday evening,” she started, slowly, letting her words hang in the air for a bit. “It was your turn to read to me, remember? Or have you got somewhere more interesting to be?”

It dawned on him that she was right—last night was supposed to be their weekly evening together at the library, where they take turns reading interesting things they found there to each other—and Arthur felt the realisation hits, filling him with a horrified, sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, after what feels like a copious amount of tense silence. “It completely slipped my mind. I’m really sorry, Morgan.”

“Did you really?” She expressed, giving him another skeptical look, and he flinched at that. “I tried reading by myself, but it really wasn’t the same without you. Where were you, Arthur?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but had to close it again—this wasn’t something he had thought over, and he belatedly realised that he was completely unprepared for this question. Telling Morgan the truth was simply out of the question.

“I- I was at the study,” Arthur said, quickly, evading her gaze again, reflexively. “I was looking at Father’s will again, there’s something I need to confirm.”

“No, you’re not. I looked and waited for you there,” Morgan countered, calmly, and there was something deadly about her gaze, lying in wait, biding its time. “I also asked some of the servants to look for you, and they couldn’t find you, either, though one of them said that they heard the door. You’ve always been a bad liar, brother.”

He couldn’t be sure if she knows more than she lets on or not, but he knows by now that she rarely ever bluff, something that she had inherited from their father. Arthur tried to think of an answer out of this one, his mind racing with countless possible answers, and he shifted uncomfortably, but he felt Morgan's hand on his—he still had his hand on her shoulder—a cool touch, but filled with unspoken words, and she simply rested her hand there briefly, before seizing his wrist, and stood up, turning to face him.

“Was it him?” She simply said, in her deadly calm, and Arthur could only stare at her, transfixed. “Were you spending more time with him?”

The shadows in the room seemed to dance, and he felt a lump forming in his throat, but he tried his best not to let it choke all his words out.

“No, it’s not—“ Arthur started, stopped midway in frustration, running his fingers through his hair with his free hand. “It’s not really what you think—“

She stepped closer, then, still holding his wrist, impassively pushing aside the collar of his shirt. The fabric yielded to her touch, revealing a telltale mark.

“There you go,” Morgan remarked, pulling away slightly, but her tone revealed nothing. “You’re really getting up close and personal with your new friend. Did you enjoy it? Was it any good at all?”

“It’s none of your business,” Arthur told her, feeling a sudden burst of defiance welling up within him, and steeled his gaze. “I’m sorry I forgot about our little meeting, but it’s not as if I’ve done it before, and what I did is really none of your business.”

It felt good, although he felt guilty afterwards, but he returned her silent, reproachful glare, looking her dead in the eye, not backing down. 

“My dear, foolish brother,” Morgan started, her tone still lethally calm, but he could hear fury underlying her words, although it was suppressed. “Do you really think the outsider won’t just leave you, after he got what he wanted? Do you really think he loves you?” She continued, with a withering glare. “And do you really presume that you can talk back to me like that now? I took care of you when we were little. When I got my gift, I shared it with you. I kept you alive afterwards because you were too afraid to take what you need from the humans. Do you really think you should talk to me like that?”

The thrill that he briefly felt on defying her faded away, replaced by a familiar, overwhelming sense of guilt, as if on cue, and he detested her for making him feel that way, which only serves to make him feel even guiltier. 

“You’re right,” Arthur said, although the words felt hollow in his tongue, as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of ghosts. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s it,” she says, nodding with a slight, satisfied smile. She moved closer, placing hishand on her hip, but kept her grip on his wrist. “Are you going to make it up to me, brother?”

“Do I really have a choice?” Arthur blurted out, skeptically, but immediately regretting it.

“I don’t like hearing no, so, I don’t think so,” Morgan replied, accompanied by an amused smile. “I have to punish you anyway for giving yourself over to him. You’ll be good tonight and do as I say, will you?”

It was something that he dreaded to hear the most, and he felt his mind racing already, trying to think of a way out, any way out, but he never could seem to find any, so he forced himself to nod.

“Yes, sister,” he told her, sighing in resignation. “I’ll be good.”

“That’s what I’d like to hear,” she said in return, amusedly, pushed herself up on tiptoe and pressed her lips on his, almost tenderly, until she bit his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a bruise. “Perhaps I’ll let you drink from me tonight. How long has it been since the last time? Two days? Or maybe I’ll take a bite out of you instead,” she added, playfully, releasing his wrist and placing her hands, lightly, on his shoulders. 

“Yes, it has been two days,” Arthur replied, eyeing her warily. Morgan was too close for comfort, and her touch always brings all sorts of memories that he would rather not acknowledge—would rather let them stay and rot in the darkness of the furthest recesses of his mind forever and never see the light of day, lest they bring forth all sorts of ugly, repressed emotions—though, ironically perhaps, he always remembered, although vaguely, the time before all of this started. After all, it hasn’t always been this way, and, perhaps sadly, he truly believed what he told Lucius the other day in the study: that she wasn’t inherently a bad person, even if she’d done hurtful things to him. 

He doesn’t believe that he could save her—he doesn’t even think that it was a matter of salvation anymore, not when there are never angels in the first place—but he had to do what he had to do to survive, even if he doesn’t like it.

And he had to admit that she was right on one count, at least: they only had each other, though not in the way that she so zealously wanted him to believe.

Perhaps—despite everything—Morgan still loved and cared about him, because that was how Arthur felt towards her, no matter how many times she’d hurt him.

“It certainly felt like ages, don’t you think?” She expressed, smiling up at him before she kissed him again, slipping her tongue into his mouth, slowly, savouring it, and he let her, offering no active resistance, but he doesn’t kiss her back, either. “I missed you,” Morgan admitted, afterwards, fingering the collar of his shirt. “You spent too much time with the outsider, not counting last night. We should be good to each other because we only have each other, especially now. Don’t you agree, Arthur?”

She looked up at him, expectantly, and he doesn’t know what to say—he only felt the intense desire to push her away or at least to avert his gaze to hide how he is truly feeling—but she clearly changed her mind about hearing his answer (or that it was largely a hypothetical question in the first place, which Arthur suspected was the actual case, as it often is with Morgan), because she released him, only to pull him by the hand towards the four-poster bed.

He knows what she’s going to do, but he also knows by now that offering any sort of struggle will only cause him grief, so he let her, even if he felt the uncomfortably familiar feeling of dread and numbness that had creeped from the bottom of his stomach. It was nearly amusing, he supposed, in a darkly ironic sort of manner, since the previous night he felt nothing but butterflies.

“Are you still going to give me that look?” Morgan says, after she pushed him to the bed, climbing on top of him. “Do you still think that what we are doing is wrong? Human rules no longer apply to us once we become what we are. We are gods now,” she proclaimed, her knees on either side of his hips, straddling him. She sounded almost proud when she said that, but he cast her a doubtful look, and she kissed him, roughly, tonguing the bruise she left on his lips earlier.

“Do you really believe that, Morgan?” Arthur doubted, feeling her fingers already started undoing the buttons of his dress shirt deftly, and he wrapped his arms around her, loosely, even if only to calm his nerves. It doesn’t help, not when he doesn’t want any of this—and had never wanted it in the first place—but he could at least pretend to try that he had some measure of control over the situation.

“Don’t you? We’ll live forever and rule over them,” she told him, chuckling lightly, pressing another insistent kiss on his lips. “And I have to say that immortality is a good look on you, my dear brother.”

“What will happen when things change?” Arthur persisted, perhaps trying to delay the inevitable, pointedly ignoring her last remark. “What are we going to do then?”

She pulled away, only slightly, and only momentarily, furrowing a brow at his questions. He saw a possible way out, but as soon as the window appeared, it quickly vanished again into thin air.

“You know I’d prefer not to talk about that,” Morgan reminded him, lightly, but something in her tone tells him otherwise. “I know that you’re just trying to stall anyway, aren’t you? Don’t worry, you’ll learn to enjoy this eventually,” she added, with a small, private smile, her eyes glittered briefly with amusement. She guided his hand to her shoulder, pushing her gown aside with it, and then led it down to her breast, placing it there. “I remembered the first night we spent together. I also remembered the first time I kissed you, because I was curious about how it’d feel,” she whispered, her lips grazing his, and Arthur remembered with a shudder, involuntarily, quickly trying to push back the memories and the unpleasant emotions they invoked. 

“Now look a little more alive, will you? I don’t want to bed a doll, no matter how beautiful,” Morgan commanded, and he had little choice but to give her his assent, even if he’s starting to feel like a phantom, as if all of this happened to someone else, and he could only watch passively, helplessly, floating just out of reach. 

Arthur tried to kiss her back, then, as she pushed him back and kissed him hard on the lips, before she kissed his neck, and he tried to force himself to relax, to direct his attention temporarily to the ceiling instead. He was, strangely, almost glad when Morgan covered his mouth with hers again, as she reached between his legs and started to stroke his length, stifling the unmistakable sounds of pleasure that had started to escape his lips, even if he doesn’t actually feel any, aside from the superficial physical one.

He already knows, too, how this night is going to end, as she moved her lips down to his throat, but he had forgotten one crucial thing.

The door swings open, abruptly.

* * *

It was a mess, he supposed, one that would be bewildering and perhaps even repulsive to most people, but he was in the business of dealing with various horrors, and thus, he was mostly unfazed by the scene he’d walked into.

The slow, torturous descent into evening was hellish in its own way, but Lucius remembered what Arthur said the night prior—about finding him upstairs should he want to look for him—before they part ways, and so he waited, albeit very impatiently, pacing his room like a caged animal. A servant still delivered him food at the usual times of the day, so he assumed that Arthur kept his word about what he said on leaving being a suggestion, though he’d like to think that it means the other man hoped he’d stay, in accordance with what Lucius told him, that he won’t simply leave him just like that. 

He must have fallen asleep at some point during the late afternoon—his bed still smelled like Arthur, and he thought that he’d had tender dreams, for the first time in forever—because when he wakes up again, it was already dark.

He did not dither—he got dressed, brings what he had a strong feeling he would need, and left the room, heading for the stairs. It was as he remembered it, stately and forgotten, the ballroom and the memories it contained lying in wait in its shadow, and he carefully, but hurriedly made his ascent, taking extra care to muffle his footsteps.

The second story lies before him, another hallway full of closed doors and sleeping secrets, the shadows creeping in the corners whispering of things better left unsaid in the dead language of ghosts. Something about them tells him that he was neck deep in their territory now, and Lucius treads carefully, choosing the direction that his instinct told him to go.

The silence was deafening—it was the silence that lays deep in the very heart of the night itself—but he remembered Arthur’s warning, alongside his experience, which told him that anything could happen, and Lucius did not lower his guard as he slowly made his way through the partially lit hallway. He had no particular direction in mind, as Arthur did not mention any specifics, but he supposed he must have gotten lucky—or that his instincts are merely correct—since he started to hear what vaguely, faintly, sounds like voices, and he stopped for a moment, trying to ascertain where they come from and if it was what he thought it was, before he directed himself in what he perceived were the source. 

A door lies not far from where he’d briefly stopped, at the end of the hallway, and, faint and muffled as it was, he could hear the sound of voices coming from behind it, like a murmur in a radio at the end of the world. As he creeped closer in its direction, the sound grew louder, although not so much, and he became quite certain about who the voices belonged to. 

The familiar female voice talked more, but Lucius thought that he could hear the silent disagreement in the other, more familiar male voice, and he remained still for a few moments, trying to make out what they were saying to each other, and assessing the overall situation. 

But _something_ was happening, certainly, something unpleasant, and his instincts had already moved his body in the direction of the door. Before he knew it—he really wasn’t quite the type who thought things through—he pushed it open, since it was apparently unlocked, and mentally readied himself for what he thought was happening.

It was still somewhat gruesome, he supposed, incidentally stumbling upon it as it is unfolding, though, he felt a rather dark satisfaction at the fact that at least one of his speculations was proven to be correct.

“Why, it seems like I’ve interrupted something _important_,” Lucius announced, smirking at the figures on the bed. Morgan still looked busy on top of her brother, her lips pressed on his exposed throat, her dressing gown half-undone, exposing her shoulder and part of her breast, but Arthur seemed to have caught up with the sudden interruption, and had his head tilted slightly in Lucius’ direction.

His words only hang in the air for a fraction of a second, but the look of absolute horror and surprise that dawned on Arthur’s face seemed to last for an eternity, at least in his personal recollections of the night. It, too, was quite a sight, and it somehow made him recall the manner in which he asked if Lucius was going to hurt him, the night before, and now everything suddenly makes sense. 

The puzzle pieces are slowly falling into place, right before his eyes.

“This— this isn’t really—“ Arthur stammered, pushing Morgan aside, evidently very much mortified by the unexpected turn of events. His shirt was already undone, and Lucius could see the marks that he’d left on him the night before, dotting his flesh, tiny red letters from the language that was known only by the two of them. It felt a tiny bit blasphemous, finding her touching him like that, as if she was violating something sacred, or exposing a secret that they both had shared, and the fact that she wasn’t supposed to be doing that in the first place lend the feeling a certain kind of justified rage, a holy sort of vindication. 

Lucius simply wanted to pull Arthur away from her, and out of this place. He thought that he wanted to hurt her too, if only to feel some kind of morbid, sadistic gratification, but he doesn’t know how Arthur would react just yet.

“This is actually what it looks like,” Morgan interjected, cutting short both his train of thoughts and her brother’s weak denial. She doesn’t even bother to look at him, instead took the time to cup Arthur’s face and land a lazy kiss on his lips. “So what if it is what it looks like? Are you going to pass judgement on us? Or—” she paused, resting a hand on Arthur’s thigh, the brief silence laden with knowing. “—are you here to do something else? Either way, I’m giving you the chance to turn back, and leave us alone.”

“I’m quite certain I left you alone with Arthur long enough,” Lucius countered, regarding both of them calmly. He still couldn’t see Morgan’s face, and Arthur’s expression was unreadable, though his gaze flitted between him and his sister nervously. “Much too long for my liking, as a matter of fact. I’m here to put an end to that,” he continued, and he saw Arthur tensed, visibly, but Lucius pressed on. 

“But straighten up a few things for me first, will you? I’ve only heard snippets of your conversation. However,” he paused, trying to gauge Morgan’s reaction, “I could already figure out that you were the one who turned your brother. Naturally, that places you as his superior, and gives you a fair amount of power over him, including the power to truly influence his mind, if you so choose,” he elaborated, quietly stepping deeper into the room, closing the door behind him. “But that wasn’t the full picture, was it? It doesn’t look like you were using that power right now, and if you do in the past, Arthur must have hated you already. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. So how did you get him to stick around? Was it guilt over something? Are you manipulating that in order to get him into bed with you?”

That seemed to hit the mark, and he could see her back stiffening, as a tense, uncomfortable silence filled the room. He saw Arthur shift, uneasily, and Morgan finally disentangled herself from him, allowing him to pull himself up to a sitting position. She straightened up her gown, seemingly deep in thought. 

“Is it true?” Arthur broke the silence first, directing his gaze to her. She seemed to be avoiding it, or was too busy tangling with her own thoughts, but he searched for her gaze anyway. “What Lucius said, about you having the ability to control my mind. You never mentioned anything about any of that before, have you?” He questioned, casting her a doubtful look. “In light of that, how much of what you’re telling me is true, Morgan? You said we shouldn’t be keeping secrets from each other.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, slowly, and Lucius thought that he heard resentment brewing under her words, and, although she was speaking to her brother, he supposed she intended those words for him, too. “Much of what I did, I did it for you. There’s so much that you don’t understand, and I’m protecting you from them. Look at what happened to Father,” she carries on, and it felt as if he was intruding on a very intimate conversation, but Lucius didn’t look away. “But you have your own secrets, don’t you, Arthur? And now you chose to trust someone else over your own sister, your own flesh and blood,” she sighed, resting a hand lightly on his cheek. “For what it’s worth…I do care about you.”

“I care a lot about you too, sister,” Arthur told her, after a brief period of silence—he seemed to be stunned by this revelation, and it seemed like she meant it, in earnest—and he touched her hand on his cheek, gently, before he leaned close and pressed a light, quick kiss on her cheek. “But not in the way that you wanted me to. It’s wrong, and he’s right—it’s time for all this to stop,” he added, and shot a brief glance at Lucius before continuing. When he speaks again, his voice was but a soft whisper, and Lucius had to strain himself to hear it. “It’s time to let me go,” Arthur said to Morgan, with the briefest hint of a wistful smile.

“Arthur’s right,” Lucius pointed out, only feeling the slightest bit impatient with how events are unfolding. He still had his misgivings about Morgan, but clearly, Arthur needs closure, and he doesn’t want to rob him of his chance of that. He evidently had been through a lot, and if this was a chance to give him a silver lining—if this was an opportunity to get him out of here without any violent resistance from his sister—then Lucius would take the chance. “I asked him to come with me last night. I know about your father, and the mysterious circumstance surrounding his death. I can’t promise everything will always be fine if he agreed to come with me, but there’s a chance we might unveil the mystery, and perhaps find the cure your father has sought. I promise I will keep him safe and well, if that will reassure you,” he told her, shrugging lightly. “But I’m quite certain Arthur can take care of himself just fine, anyway. Still, I meant what I said, and I’d protect him.”

“You really don’t understand, don’t you?” Morgan countered, cuttingly. She had finally deem it worthy to look at him, turning to face him. Her green eyes were calm, but he could see raging seas churning underneath it. “I don’t think you would, if you don’t have any siblings yourself. We only have each other now—_we_ are all that’s left,” she said, gesturing towards her brother. “We belong to each other, and that means he’s not going anywhere, not with you, not with anyone. It was never about a cure anyway,” she continued, fervently, her eyes flashing with righteous fury. 

“I don’t care about that. And I think my brother would agree. Why would I give up this gift? For a few meager years of human life? Grow old, and then die? I don’t think so,” she laughed, darkly, beautiful and damned both at once, and for a moment, Lucius thought that he saw her as a splitting image of her brother, but a disconcerting, sinister version of him, as if looking through an enchanted mirror. “I went through all the trouble and pain for the ritual to work, for a reason. I’m not going to let someone like you stop me.”

“You forgot one crucial thing,” Arthur cuts in before Lucius could respond to Morgan, pushing her hand away. The shift in his tone and expression could not have been more dramatic—it was the first time Lucius saw him like that, the cold, silent fury in his eyes mirroring that of his sister, his bearing that of a ruler scorned. “I am more than capable of speaking for myself and making my own decisions. I’m no longer a little boy, yet you continued to treat me as one. Do you really think I agree with you, Morgan? With how you told me how to live my life, and everything else? Is that what you truly think?” He said, and she turned to him, gripping his arm, clearly trying to make him stay, but he merely looked at her, coldly, and pushed her away. 

“You’re a bigger fool than what you made me believe I am, and a villain besides,” he declared, making his way towards Lucius, stopping in front of him, as Morgan stared at him in utter disbelief. 

Arthur’s gaze met his for a moment, and Lucius could see something shift there, like a page, being turned over, but it was all too fleeting, and soon, there was only determination, a cold, hard certainty as resolute and unyielding as the night sky. Then he averted his gaze, and Lucius let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

It was a look that he had never seen before, either, and one he hoped he’d never get to see again. 

“If you’re going to put an end to this, then do it,” he says, his tone revealing nothing. “I know what you’re going to do. What you actually came here to do.”

“You’re not getting away that easily,” Morgan declared, before Lucius could say anything. “I’m not done with you yet—both of you.”

The manner in which she raised herself up from the bed were languid, graceful, but he knows what it meant, what it’s going to entail, and he pulled Arthur close with one arm.

“Don’t look,” he whispered to him, after landing a brief, quick kiss on top of his head, recalling the vague yet tender dreams he’d had earlier with the scent of his hair, before he reached for the inside of his coat.

Lucius thought that—since he remembered, always, what happens next—he could relive every single detail, every single graceful movement, down to the way that the shadows seemed to dance along with her, their tendrils like dead, darkened stars on the carpet, but all he could remember was the feeling of Arthur’s face, pressed on his chest, the moment the first bullet left the muzzle of his revolver, and the aftermath.

He’d shot more than once—even with special-made bullets, several is usually needed to truly slay a monster such as her, although her delicate, lovely appearance belies her true nature—and there is no pretty, poetic word to describe the aftermath, except that it was a _mess_.

It was over quick, at least—even though the moment felt as if it unfolded inside eternity—and he’d been through enough that his hand didn’t shake afterwards, even if the body he was holding in his arm did, a little. Lucius was supremely confident in his skills, and he did not possess a single doubt that it would be over in a flash, but still, he was thankful that it didn’t turn into a protracted battle, for the sake of the one he was protecting.

A heavy silence fell afterwards, like a shroud, and it, too, felt like forever before he lowered his hand. The shadows were still, and the silence enveloped the two of them.

“It’s over,” Lucius said, gently pushed Arthur away from his chest, just enough so he could see his face. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

He doesn’t expect him to respond right away, and he was well prepared for any sort of backlash he might receive. He waited, patiently, for him, searching the other’s eyes for any flicker of anger, or grief, or anything at all.

“It’s alright,” Arthur says, calmly, avoiding Lucius’ gaze. Both his tone and his countenance were oddly calm, but Lucius knows that it was merely the shock, and grief stalks him already, like a vulture following a dead man. “It was unavoidable, but perhaps…if I had tried harder…maybe…” he trailed off, his eyes distant, but before Lucius could try to console him, he snapped back into focus, meeting his gaze. “What happens now?” Arthur voiced, laying a hand on his, the one still holding the gun. His cool touch brings back memories of the ballroom, but the body on the floor and the coldness of the weapon he was holding—that seeps even through the material of his dark glove, or so he felt—reminds him that this wasn’t that night. “Are you going to do the same to me, Lucius? After all, you know that I am the same as my sister, right?”

“You—“ he started, looking at him, but stopped and shook his head. “That was my original intention, but—“ he shook off Arthur’s hand, and brought the tip of his gun to rest underneath his chin, lifting it up slightly. Arthur’s gaze were clear, calm, unafraid. Lucius remembered, then, the first time he kissed him, in the garden underneath the moonlight, and he knows—ever since then, even before then—that he wouldn’t be able to do it, not now, not in a thousand years. It was simply something unthinkable. There was nothing at all complicated about it. “No,” he told him, shaking his head again, releasing his chin. “Remember what I told you, yesterday night? I promised I wouldn’t hurt you, and I don’t break such promises,” he said, with a shrug, giving him his usual, confident smile. “And you should believe me when I said that you are nothing like her.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said, in return, after a fair amount of silence, with a soft sigh. Lucius could tell that he did not entirely believe him, and he thought that he saw a whirlwind of emotions in his eyes, but Arthur surprised him by wrapping his arms around him before he could say or do anything, pulling him close for a brief embrace. 

“You’re safe now, my love,” Lucius told him afterwards, leaning down to press a soft kiss on his forehead. “You can do whatever you like with the rest of your life. My offer still stands, though—you can leave all this behind and start over. It’s much better than trying to clean…this up, anyway. I did said something like this earlier—“ he paused, to take off his coat and cover Arthur’s exposed chest, careful not to mention his sister’s name, lest he accidentally triggered the still-stewing grief. “—but I will say it again: if you come with me, I can’t promise that everything’s going to be fine all the time, but I will keep you safe, and provide you with everything you need. We’re going to have to lay low from the authorities for a bit since I don’t have too many strings I can pull in this country, but I can give you shelter, a new identity to shield you from their eyes and any other unwanted attention for however long it would be necessary, and more besides. How does that sound?”

“I—“ Arthur begun, turning away slightly, and Lucius watched as his gaze slowly slid from the carpet towards the rivulets of blood that was now embedded within it, but he quickly looked away, shifting his gaze back to him. “I remembered what you said. Are you really going to protect me?” He asked, his tone strangely light and playful, but even if he tried his best, there was still something forced about his smile, shadowed by the darker emotions he was still trying to suppress. 

“Of course. I don’t say that lightly,” Lucius answered, playing along with a smirk. “Consider me your personal bodyguard from here onwards. Or your knight,” he said, pausing momentarily to gauge Arthur’s response. “Every lord needs a good knight they can rely on, don’t they?”

“Maybe,” Arthur muttered, trying to hide his blush, fingering Lucius’ coat awkwardly. “But, either way, I’m coming with you, and for the record, I’m not completely helpless, though you do need to teach me a thing or two along the way.”

This was surprising in light of what had just happened, because Lucius knows what he actually meant—Arthur did eye his gun afterwards, perhaps instinctively, though he quickly looked away—and he stared at him in stunned silence for a moment.

“If that’s what you want,” he told him, smiling slightly, can’t help but feeling a little bit amused. “You really are full of surprises. But we need to talk about this again later. I’ll give you time to tidy up and pack while I get the rest of my own things. We do need to leave immediately.”

“Right, that’s a good idea, especially since—“ Arthur looked around, distractedly, but only for a moment. “I haven’t told you, but all my warnings to you…well, when Morgan started to play around with the unknown, I suppose some of those…forces…lingered in this house. I don’t know what will happen now that she’s—“ he stopped there, briefly, his eyes flashing with emotions that went too fast to name, but he managed to push it aside. “Either way, yes, we absolutely need to get out immediately. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to leave you alone—“

“I’ll meet you in the main hall,” Lucius interrupted, lifted Arthur’s chin so he could land a quick kiss on his lips. “Near the doors. Stay sharp, and I’ll see you soon, my love. Bring my coat with you. I’ll be safe, I promise.”

Time is of the essence, he thought, though he still felt reluctant to part ways with Arthur no matter how briefly, even as he opened the door for him, feeling as if it was eons ago when he first stepped into the house as a guest, that one fateful night. 

In a sense, things were only truly beginning.

* * *

The sky was strangely clear, outside, a cloudless summer night, although it felt a little bit more like autumn with the chill in the air, and the moon was shining, high in the vast dome of the great heavens, and he felt the strange, strange urge to revisit the garden, to rendezvous with the moonlight and the immense silence of the universe once more. 

He was loading their things to the back of the car—there aren’t that many of them, just a small suitcase on his part, and a slightly larger one that belongs to Arthur (he has fewer things than what Lucius had initially assumed, but then again, he probably left a lot of unnecessary things behind, which is just as well)—though he couldn’t help but stop for a moment, and observe the other.

Arthur was standing not too far away from him, beside the door to the front passenger seat, his back to him. He was appropriately, impeccably dressed now, as always, still wearing Lucius’ coat, but properly this time around, the dark, slightly oversized fabric enveloping his elegant frame like something mystical and symbolic, his hands shoved into its pockets. He’d been quiet ever since they converged again in the agreed spot—thankfully what he fears would happen did not happen, and they both emerged from the house unscathed—and he was just as silent now, looking at the house.

It must have been hard for him, leaving, and so suddenly besides, since he must have lived and breathed and laughed there for as long as he remembered. Departure was never easy, even someone who considers himself to be unsentimental like Lucius could sympathise, although he blamed it on the special concern that he felt towards Arthur. 

He quickly finished putting the suitcases in the back and closed the door, then walked towards him.

“Ready to leave?” He asked, stopping behind him, resting his hand on the car door handle. “We don’t have much time, but if you still need a few moments, I can give you that.”

“No, I’m fine,” Arthur says, moving aside so Lucius could open the door for him. “It just didn’t felt quite right, leaving like this. We could at least leave a note for the servants.”

“They will be fine,” Lucius remarked, closed the door when Arthur had gotten in. He resumed the conversation once he, too, had entered the car, and had seated himself comfortably behind the wheel. “I have arranged that they will find out about things when we were already a safe distance away. I did, however, perhaps tamper a little with their memories about me and events surrounding us for the past few nights. I may not quite be an avid practitioner of magic, but I did know a few things, here and there.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Arthur said, giving him a dirty look sideways. “I still maintain that we should probably tell them that we’re leaving, or at least leave a clear note explaining things. I don’t quite approve of your method.”

“No, we’ll just cause confusion and perhaps even panic that way, and we couldn’t possibly explain the details. It’ll just complicate things,” he told him, starting the engine. “Believe me, it’s better this way. But,” Lucius paused, for dramatic effect, reaching for Arthur’s hand. “I do hope your disapproval of my methods doesn’t quite affect your overall perception of me, since I adored you, and what you think of me mattered a lot to me, my love,” he declared, pressing a soft kiss on the back of his hand.

“I- is this really the time and place?” Arthur protested, but it seemed to have chased the dark clouds that had been haunting his green eyes, even if only for a little, and Lucius laughed before he lets go of his hand, secretly glad that it had the desired effect. “Anyway, this is…oddly exciting, isn’t it? A little bit like what happened in the books. Though, it makes me feel a little nervous too,” he admitted, and Lucius thought he saw a momentary flash of guilt in his eyes. “Do you think we’ll see a lot of exciting things? Of course finding out what actually happened to my father is our priority, but we can do other things besides, don’t we? You should teach me how to drive too.”

“We do,” Lucius said, with an amused laugh. “I’ll show you a lot of exciting things. I’ll take you to parties, see movies, travel once we don’t have to lay low anymore. You’ll like it. And of course I’ll teach you how to drive too if you want. You know I can’t say no to you. There’s an entire world out there,” he added, flashing him a sideways smile. “But for now, lay back and get a little rest, okay?” He said, reaching out to ruffle Arthur’s hair briefly. “I promise we’ll get to the nearest town before dawn, and find some place to stay until tomorrow evening. It’ll be alright.”

“Okay,” Arthur conceded, leaning back on his seat. “I trust you.”

“I won’t let you down, my love, my Arthur,” he says, laughing when he saw him blush through a glance, and turned the car around, leaving the monstrous house and its shadows behind.

The night seemed to recede into the distance, as they sped away from the house. Things were uncertain, as they always are, but at least, he thought, at least they were together now, and nothing could stop them, not as long as they were together.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sad to part ways with this AU, so I'm probably, definitely (?) going to revisit this in the future, lmao. After all, there's so much more things that can be written, and this ending is absolutely just another beginning.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, as always! Comments and suggestions are welcome <3


End file.
